


Taxi Ride

by Aerilon452



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Complete, Fluff, Handcuffs, M/M, One Shot, PWP, Riding Crops, Sex, Taxi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 22:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4366202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aerilon452/pseuds/Aerilon452
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock hails a taxi, his destination to the scene of a murder, but instead he is taken for a ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taxi Ride

TAXI RIDE:

 

Sherlock didn’t know what he would do if the text from Lestrade hadn’t come in when it did. It had been two days since he’d see John, or since he remembered seeing John. Where had he gotten to? Sherlock’s mind had run the gauntlet of possibilities with no answer in sight. So, when his phone chirped alerting him to a text, Sherlock was overjoyed that there was a murder to solve. He grabbed his coat, his scarf that vaguely smelled of John, and ran out the door to hail a cab at the curb. A few cars drove by until a Taxi pulled up. He was sad to note that he was distracted, and without thought, which galled him, he got in the back and shut the door. 

Sherlock wasn’t proud of this, and he would deny it later, but he scarcely realized that the cab doors had locked on both sides and the partition was closed, latched from the front. The cabbie was taking him in the opposite direction that he needed to go. “You're driving the wrong way.” Sherlock knocked against the glass separating the back from the front. “Hey, you!” he raised his voice a little. The black hooded figure wouldn’t turn to look at him. Sherlock looked at the rear view mirror but it was blacked out. Kidnapped. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective was being kidnapped by a taxi driver. This had Déjà vu written all over it. 

John sat behind the wheel in the cab listening to Sherlock in the back. He wore an oversized black hoodie with the hood pulled over his head to mask his body type from his consulting detective lover. Their son was with Mrs. Hudson, had been for two days since that was how long it took him to throw all this together. Sherlock hardly noticed, he was working on his latest cases. Best way to keep things from him. John turned the taxi down a side street, and then another that would take them to the warehouse district. Everything was all set up there. John just had to remain silent enough to keep from tipping his hand to Sherlock. 

Sherlock sat back in the seat, discreetly moving his hand over to the door handle. He pulled, but nothing happened. The locks had even been removed. To say the very least his curiosity was piqued. Looking out the rain splattered window he saw they were heading towards the warehouse district. Most of them had been abandoned at the turn of the 20th century. The sense of not knowing had a surge of desire coursing straight through him. Where was John when he needed him? Sherlock shifted in his seat, adjusting his pants. This ‘kidnapping’ was turning him on more than he thought. 

John pulled into an empty warehouse, hit a switch to doors closed to seal them off from anyone who might happen by. Getting out of the car, he was careful not to let Sherlock see him as he walked to one metal wall to turn on some lights. John went back to the car, to the trunk, and pulled out the riding crop and cuffs. He then went to the back door, opened it, and waited for his lover to get out all the while keeping his back to the tall lithe man that he cared about more than life. While Sherlock was making up his mind, John went to the front of the cab and secured the cuffs to the hood.

Curiosity got the better of Sherlock, it forced him from the back of the cab and out into the warehouse. The hooded figure was at the front of the cab, his head bowed, and the telltale sound of cuffs clicking into place. His cock twitched pleasurably at the sound. “Why have you brought me here? I’m supposed to be solving a murder. I don’t have time for this.” Sherlock blustered trying to ignore the pulse of wanting. What was going in?

As much fun as this was, it was time for John to put Sherlock out of his mental misery. He set the crop on the hood, and went to stand in front of her Sherlock. With a flourish, he flipped back the hood, “Miss me?” John chuckled. 

Sherlock scowled. “I knew it was you.” He lied seeing John standing before him.

“No you didn’t.” John replied knowing his man. 

“Yes, I…” Sherlock looked around. “If we’re here, where’s our son?”

“With Mrs. Hudson, has been for the last two days.” John answered shaking his head. Little Hamish referred to her as ‘Nana Hudson’. It was too cute for him to correct and she didn’t mind either. “You were working so hard on that last case, I thought you needed to be distracted.” As casually as he could, John let his eyes drift down to the bulge in the front of Sherlock’s trousers. John had some delicious plans for that hard penis. 

“Why are we here?” Sherlock could guess, but he wanted to hear John say the words, to sill his whole plan for the day.

“I’m going to cuff you to the hood, beat your arse, and make you come.” John grinned wickedly. “Then I plan to screw your brains out.” He closed the distance between him and Sherlock reaching out to grip the lapels of the well-worn coat his lover always wore. John pulled it off Sherlock, tossing it back into the taxi. Then came the scarf. He was about to remove it when another idea occurred to him. The scarf would stay on. 

Sherlock took his shirt off in silent response to the heat in John’s eyes. He tossed the shit, not really caring where it ended up. All that mattered was the man in front of him. “Do whatever you want to me.” Sherlock leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. His sex hardened further in eager anticipation of what was to come, and just how hard he would before the night was over.

“Front of the cab, move it.” John ordered, his voice harsh and commanding that left no room to be denied. Excitement glittered in Sherlock’s eyes as he readily obeyed. The world famous detective went to the hood, bending over his arms stretched out where John secured the cuffs to keep Sherlock in place. Stepping back he admired the sight of Sherlock bent over. Unabashed, John rubbed his hand over his jean clad erection. John went back to his restrained paramour, giving the arse he intended to flog a generous squeeze.

Sherlock moaned at the feel of John’s fingers dug into his backside. His former army partner then stepped behind him, rubbing his groin against him. He pressed his forehead into the metal as his teeth sank into his bottom lip. Hands slid over his skin above the band of his pants, going to the front closure of his trousers. The belt was roughly opened, the button practically ripped off, and the zipper forced down with a high pitched hiss. John pulled his pants down with ruthless dominance. Chilly air breathed over his cheeks and the tip of his cock touched the emblem of the taxi cab. Sherlock’s hips thrust forward automatically. 

John sucked in a breath at the sight of Sherlock pale, tight arse. He brought his hand across the right cheek, the sting of flesh slapping flesh resulting in a pink tint to snow white flesh. Then, his hands groped the detective, pulling his cheeks apart, only to push them back together. John pulled Sherlock’s cheeks apart again giving him free access to once again rub the rough fabric against the winking bud. Sherlock moaned, arching his back much to John’s delight. 

Trying to breathe, Sherlock forced his brain to sort through all the sensations running through him. But this was John, it was John’s hard cock pushing against him. There was no dissecting each rub, each caress. John made his brain shut down with the best wicked ecstasy his body had ever felt. Then, like that, John backed away from him. A few seconds later cold leather smacked into his backside. The force of the blow forced his hips, his cock, against the front grill of the taxi once more. “Oh yes!” Sherlock cried out, his voice echoed all around them.

John grinned, bringing the crop down again and again to leave red welts in place on Sherlock’s skin. It had been a long while since last they’d indulge in sex like this. They had a son, a toddler that got into everything. It didn’t offer them much time to bring each other mindless pleasure. Today was different, Watson made plans for just this moment. Another smack of the crop left Sherlock’s right cheek a delicious cherry red. John paused, “Tell me you want more.”

“Oh good god yes!” Sherlock moaned, louder this time. He arched his back, presenting his ass for more rough treatment that made him harder than steel. The crop connected with his flesh again, this time his left cheek. “Oooh!” he cried out from a mixture of the leather and the air whispering over his raw right cheek. A smack would come rocked him forward, the underside of his sex rubbed, and fluid started to leak out. 

John paused in his flogging to shed his coat, to free a small bottle of astroglide from his front pocket, and then shove it in his jeans. Taking the crop in hand again, John set the leather tongue to Sherlock’s back sliding it down his spine drawing a shiver from his lover. It made John excited. A few more whacks to Sherlock’s arse, and he was satisfied. He tossed the crop aside moving in close to his detective, lowering his zipper as he did so. His hard fat cock popped free aching and eager to be shoved deep inside Sherlock’s anus. With lube in hand, he squeezed a generous amount into his hand, and then worked it into the hole he planned to screw mercilessly. 

Sherlock felt the slippery penetration of John’s finger plunging inside him, he moved back to take more of the digits into him. The probing stung slightly, it had been months since he’d last been invaded by John’s cock. He was hungry for it. “I want you inside me so bad!” He was lubed up, hot, and ready to be pounded. John’s fingers left him, Sherlock strained his hearing through the rushing of blood in his ears. He barely made out the sound of john’s slippery hand stroking himself. 

John grinned at Sherlock, took his sex in hand, and set his head against his entrance. There was a little resistance, just a little, and then his head slipped inside. John held himself still, growling in primal delight. On instinct, his hips thrust forward sinking more of his cock inside watching every inch being swallowed by Sherlock’s greedy hole. He reached around, taking hold of the long length, and the moment he was balls deep, John pulled out stroking Sherlock as he did so.

Sherlock threw his head back, a full throated yell of bliss bubbling in his chest at the feeling of his backside stuffed with all that John was, John’s hand gripping his cock tightly, and the rough scrape of jeans against his tender buttocks. He didn’t know if he wanted to rock back, grinding on John’s organ, or thrust forward stroking his sex through John’s talented fingers. His Watson, his beautifully uncomplicated Watson pulled out, holding just the tip inside him. “Oh, John…. Mmmm…” John’s reply was to thrust roughly back in.

This time, John leaned over Sherlock, resting his forehead in the center of his back. Sherlock clenched his muscles, adding a slight rocking of his hips to grind against him. He took his hand from Sherlock hard penis as he pulled out. John thrust twice, and each time he spanked his trussed up paramour. Each time he plowed into Sherlock, he made sure it was a little harder than the last. He wanted the force to propel Sherlock forward, to have the taxi apply pressure to his member adding the pleasure/pain mixture they both enjoyed. “I’m going to make you cum all over this car.” John swore. He pulled all the way out, unfastened the button of his jeans, and pushed the fabric down to his knees. John wanted to hear his skin slapping against Sherlock’s backside echoing all around them. 

Sherlock was propelled forward when John invaded him once more. His cock rubbed the front grill of the taxi wrangling another cry from between his lips. John moved faster and faster, the motion they created started moving the vehicle. When John pulled back, the front of the taxi would push into Sherlock adding just the right amount of pressure to his organ. Each time he was one move closer to spilling of his seed all over the unyielding metal that tormented his lower half.

John threw his head back, his mouth open. His orgasm was getting close the louder his flesh slapped into Sherlock’s backside. “Oh god yes!” he thrust over and over and over, the muscles of his thighs tensing, driving him in again as deep as he could go. Sherlock clenched as he came keeping John joined to him while he filled Sherlock’s channel with all the sperm his body had. Thank god Sherlock had that case that delved into Tantric Sex. He’d been holding onto this load for long enough. John collapsed against Sherlock, kissing the center of his back lovingly. “That was…. Oh god…. It was….”

Sherlock fiddled with the cuff on his right wrist. Blatantly he realized there was a piece of metal sticking up that was long enough to let him pick the cuff until it clicked and his right hand was free. He wanted his turn at John. Try as he might, he forced his orgasm back down so he could fill John full of him. Sherlock pried free the metal and used it on the left cuff. Beating his personal time, he was free, but he had to wait until he had the strength to move. “John…” He gasped. “My… turn….”

 

THAT NIGHT:

 

All of Baker Street was quiet, too quiet for Sherlock as he lie in bed next to Watson. He body had been gloriously used this afternoon, and on the hood of a taxi no less. It had been an afternoon much to the Detectives delight that the smile never left his lips. When they returned to the flat, little Hamish clapped his hands eager to be embraced. Sherlock, with great enthusiasm, took his son in his arms, hugged him, and then with regret passed him to John so that he could go upstairs to shower. He hadn’t wanted to smell like sex and exhaust fumes while being with his child. Turning over to his side slowly, he sighed in contentment at the sight of John sleeping, one arm over his chest, the other over his head, and he chuckled lightly when Hamish was the mirror image. Both of his men. 

Before John, Sherlock had known nothing of emotions, nothing of connections beyond the fleeting and conveniently useful. Before John there had only been work and that had been enough, or so he thought. Now Sherlock had a family; a lover he adored, and a son he cherished more than anything. Sherlock slipped down off his pillow until his head was even with his two year old son. He stretched out his arm, so his hand touched John’s abdomen, and the rise of Hamish’s touched his forearm. Then, once he was satisfied this new position wouldn’t wake his so, Sherlock closed his eyes, and proceeded to let his mind go dark so sleep could take him. 

 

THE END


End file.
